


Not All Who Wander Are Lost

by tahirire



Series: Spirit 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Spirit 'Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-31
Updated: 2008-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire





	Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Dean felt the world shake, saw things again, flashes and glimpses of a room, slowly clearing as he gained awareness. The first thing he saw was the one thing he wanted to see the most; the one person he feared he'd never see again.

Sam.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, and his voice was broken from too much sorrow, too much hardship, he had suffered too much in the time that Dean was gone. Dean felt his heart go out to him. _I never wanted this for you._

“I'm here, Sam.” Dean reassured as Sam reached out and held his brother close.

Sam whimpered, a halting sob growing from the back of his throat as he clung to Dean, gripping like he'd never let go. “Oh God, Dean.”

“Shh, Sammy, it's ok.”

“I'm so sorry ...” Sam buried his head into Dean's shoulder, just being close, needing contact.

“Sam, it's ok. I'm here.” Sam lifted his eyes then, cupping Dean's face in his hands, seeking him out. Dean smiled. “I can't believe it. Man, you did it!” His voice flowed with pride. “You beat her.”

“I'm sorry, Dean.” Sam's voice sounded so _young_ , so small. “I saved myself, I saved _myself_ and I couldn't save you.”

Dean frowned, a lifetime of built-up protective feelings surfacing. He never wanted to hear his brother sound like that again. “Sammy, that's enough. You gotta snap out of it, you hear me?”

Sam slowly released his grip on Dean, tears rolling in steady streams down his pale cheeks. He made no reply, just sat there, staring at Dean like he was the only thing on Earth left to look at. Like Dean could lead him out of the dark.

Like Dean wasn't dead.

Dean circled around the shredded body; _his body_ , and knelt next to his baby brother. His hand reached towards Sam's hair, sticking to his forehead, Dean's blood the glue. He wanted more than anything to brush it away, but he paused mid-reach. He knew it couldn't be. He was insubstantial, a vapor, a shade.

A ghost.

“Sammy, please, come on, don't do this to yourself.” He pleaded, trying to project his presence. Sam had felt him once. He could do it again. “I'm right here, Sam. Right _HERE_!” Sam blinked, gazing heavily at the blood, the carnage - the desecration of the last person he would ever love. Dean shuddered, cold despite the fact that he shouldn't be able to be. Sam's eyes held no spark, no hope.

“Come on, Sam. You're the psychic. Work your magic, dude.” Dean sat closer, close enough for their knees to touch, waved a hand slowly across Sam's line of sight.

“Sam. Please. Tell me you can hear me.”

~*~

Sam lost all track of time, sitting there with Dean. His thoughts were a maelstrom of emotion, relief at having survived Lilith's attack temporary at best, shoved under by the guilt that Dean had not. _Ruby was right all along._ He gripped Dean's cold hand tightly, too spent to hold him anymore, too tired to move him; too afraid to let him go. _I should have listened to her._ “Dean,” he whispered again, the name a plea, a prayer for forgiveness.

At first, he had felt nothing, seen nothing but the bright white light, sensed nothing but terror, longed for nothing other than the end of the nightmare that was to be his life now that Dean was gone. But from somewhere inside, deep, unbidden, there had been ... _something_. A swell of power, surging forward, wrapping around him like a cocoon, protecting him.

Saving him.

He could still feel it, sense it, brief haze shimmering in the light. It didn't hurt the way his visions always had. Instead it felt warm and comforting, like a part of him. It made him feel safe, but he didn't _want_ it. He wasn't ready to be comforted, he didn't _deserve_ to be. His heart clenched in his chest and he _pushed_ out against the fragile cocoon, expanding it, shoving it away.

 _ease, ... me ... hear me_

Sam froze. The cocoon was gone, but before it dissipated, he felt it _brush_ something. Someone. A presence. He didn't so much hear the words as _feel_ them, resonating across the tumultuous tangle of his thoughts.

He held his breath, biting his lower lip in concentration. He wasn't sure how to work this, but he had to try. He opened himself to the possibility, to hope. _Dean?_

The switch flipped.

 _Sam? Can you hear me?_

Sam released the breath he had been holding with explosive force. Unconsciously he gripped Dean's hand tighter; bloody knuckles turning white with the pressure. “Dean, you're ... is it really you?” The more Sam focused, the more he could sense. Dean's relief and happiness flowed over him like a warm blanket, soothing his broken spirit.

 _Thank God. Took you long enough._

Sam could feel the smile in Dean's voice. “Where are you?” The response came back swift and strong, supporting him, reassuring him.

 _I'm right here, Sam. Right with you. I'm not going anywhere._

Sam groaned, choking back a sob that was both horror and relief. “God, Dean ... you're a ...” Sam paused. Surely this was better than the alternative.

 _Yeah, looks like._

Sam frowned. “But what about ...” he whispered, not wanting to give voice to the possibility that there was an even worse case scenario than Dean becoming a trapped and restless spirit.

 _I dunno. Think this counts as welching?_

Sam actually laughed at that, a quick bark that sounded rough after so many tears. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feel of Dean, Dean's presence lapping at his consciousness like ripples on a lake, soothing him, taking all his pain away. “Well I'm still here,” he murmured. He felt a ripple of laughter flow through him in response.

 _I don't think you have to be scared of that bitch anymore, Sammy. I don't know what you did, but you did good._

Approval flowed like oxygen through Sam's spirit, but Sam's heart skipped a beat at the words. _We're not gonna make the same mistakes all over again_. They sounded familiar. _For you and Dad, the things I'd do, or kill ... scares me sometimes._ They were words he knew his brother had heard before. _It shouldn't. You did good_. Words that had come from a demon. Sam tensed.

“You aren't mad? I used the power. I didn't mean to use it - you told me not to.” Sam felt a current of worry, crackling through the room like electricity. It lasted only an instant, and was replaced immediately by more feelings of support and acceptance. Feelings of love.

 _Hey, don't do that. You did what you had to do. I'll never be mad at you for taking care of yourself, ok?_

Sam relaxed then. “Why the change of heart?”

 _When I died ..._

Sam cringed, sparing a glance at the shattered body on the floor. He fought back tears at the thought of Dean screaming, turned his face away from all the blood.

 _I thought she killed you, Sammy._

Anguish tempered the comforting presence, and Sam felt for the first time just how his brother feared for him. It took his breath away.

 _Obviously you and I have serious unfinished business._

Sam grinned. Understatement. “Well, if I'm going to kill Lilith and get your soul back, I guess I _could_ use someone out there watching my back.”

 _Damn straight._

Sam gestured helplessly around the room. “What do you want me to do about ... you ... the ...”

 _Bury it._

“What if something happens to me? What if there isn't anyone else who knows ... that you're still around? You'll be stuck here forever.”

 _It's better than going there, Sam._

Sam had no reply for that. It was true. His newfound senses sharpened suddenly, honing in on the house's front door. “Bobby's coming.”

 _Don't tell him about me._

“Why not?”

 _Only tell him if you have to. I don't want anyone but us knowing about your spoon bending unless there isn't any other choice. Not until you know how to use it better._

Sam thought of Gordon Walker. Bobby would never turn on him, but what Bobby didn't know would help keep him from being a target for those who would. Word of his defeat of Lilith was sure to spread, and rumors would follow close behind. “Yeah, ok.” A thought occurred to him. “Dean?”

 _Yeah?_

“What if you're bound to this house? I ... I can't leave you here, man.” The thought of Dean's presence leaving him was terrifying. He'd already lost his brother once tonight.

 _I'm not._

“How can you be so sure?”

 _Cause we're a friggin old married couple, that's why. If I'm stuck to anything around here, it's you._

Sam smiled weakly. _Of course it is_.

Sam heard footsteps approach, a voice calling his name, and several muffled curse words as Bobby stepped into the room and saw him sitting there. His rough voice sounded strained, and he froze in the door frame, eyes shifting from Dean to Sam and back again. “Oh, _dammit_. _Jesus_ , Sam ...”

The feel of Dean surrounding Sam instantly flickered and went out. Icy panic began curling its fingers through Sam's chest. _Dean? Dean!?_ No response. Sam sent out the power, sweeping the room with it, searching every corner. Nothing.

So it wasn't hard to act upset in front of Bobby; it was easy to bring back the flood of tears as he gathered Dean's body in his arms, it was simple to let the older hunter comfort him and not feel guilt at keeping his last ally from knowing the truth.

Bobby attended to the traumatized family downstairs, and Sam was glad. He couldn't bear watching the way the wife cried when she saw Dean, he didn't want to hear her speak about how Dean saved her family, he didn't want to hear her say she was sorry. _It doesn't matter. I can fix this. I can_.

Sam and Bobby worked in silence, stripping Dean's torn jacket away and rinsing what blood they could off of him, and Sam wrapped him gently in a blanket and laid him in the back seat of the Impala, laying bags of ice against him to preserve what they could. Sam shuddered at the cold. _I'm gonna fix this, Dean. I am._

“It's a long ways, Sam. Are you sure you don't want me to drive?”

“No Bobby, I got it.”

Bobby looked unsure. Nearly 30 hours was a long trip by car, even without a body in the back seat, and the Impala had a broken tail light, and they couldn't afford any more run-ins with the cops. One look into Sam's eyes, though, and he caved. “I'll be right behind ya if ya need me. Sam, be careful, son.”

“Bobby ... thanks. For everything.” Sam replied.

Bobby nodded, turning away before Sam could see the tears roll, but it didn't matter. Sam knew. Sam always knew.

Sam drove in heavy silence, trying not to cast glances towards the back seat, pushing the Impala as quickly as he dared; just wanting the drive to be _over_. The initial shock was wearing off, and he felt bone weary as his eyes slid back and forth across the endless asphalt. He cringed at the silence. He'd never felt so alone.

 _You're not alone, Sam. Quit whining._

The presence came back, washing over Sam so quickly he almost ran off the road. The power inside of him reached out to the presence, surrounding it, pulling it close. Dean was sitting in the passenger's seat, and if Sam focused enough he could imagine that he saw him there. “Dean?” he asked.

 _No, it's the tooth fairy._

“Dammit Dean, don't ever do that to me again. I thought I lost you back there.” Sam winced inwardly at the double meaning.

 _Sorry._

“What'd you do that for, anyway?” Sam asked, his voice trembling in relief for the hundredth time that night.

 _You've never been a grade-A liar, Sam. Had to make it look convincing._

Sam groaned. “You are such a jerk.” He smiled, flipping on the radio. As the sound of Dean's music flowed through the cab, Sam could feel warmth and peace radiating from Dean's spirit, and he relaxed into the feeling, settled in for the long haul back to South Dakota. “You better behave or I'll change it to R.E.O,” Sam quipped.

 _Shut up and drive._

And so Sam drove.

~*~

“What do you want to do, Sam?” Bobby asked softly as they stepped into the salvage yard. Sam was weak with exhaustion, bleary eyes straining to stay open as he pondered the question. Bobby didn't look any better, in fact, he looked worse. He had gone the whole drive alone both ways, and Sam knew his friend was no spring chicken, knew he needed his rest.

But there was one more thing he had to do, and he didn't think he had the strength to do it alone. Sam rubbed the grit out of his eyes, felt the lump in his throat again. “I just want him close, Bobby. I need help. Can you last just a little longer?”

Bobby's eyes watered with fatigue - and maybe something else. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that. Come on,” he said, reaching for the Impala's passenger side door, “I know just the place.”

They drove in silence, a funeral procession of only the hearse, and Sam fought back bitterness at the thought of how unfair it was. All Dean's life, all he ever cared about was protecting, _saving_ people. Saving Sam. Even in his last hour, he managed to save a family of strangers that would never know the true extent of his sacrifice. He deserved a hero's funeral, deserved it more than most that _had_ the honor, and it would never be. The world rolled on, unaware that an anonymous young man was no longer in it; frighteningly ignorant of just what that loss would mean for its inhabitants. Sam forced the thought down. It didn't matter. _This is only temporary. I swear it. I can fix it._

Less than an hour later, Sam and Bobby stood back from the grave, sweat rolling down their shoulders despite the cool night air. Sam walked reluctantly to the Impala, its doors open, waiting for him. Bobby moved to help him, but Sam shrugged him away. “I got it, Bobby. Please.” Bobby nodded his understanding, simply offered help as Sam struggled to maneuver Dean from the car.

Sam passed his tired eyes over Dean's face one last time, lost in his grief. Almost as an afterthought, he unclasped Dean's necklace, twined it into a circle and placed it in his jacket pocket.

It was time. Quietly they wrapped Dean in more blankets to protect him from the dirt, and using the last one as a stretcher, the two men lowered him gently into the ground.

Covering the grave hurt more than almost anything Sam had ever done. He kept thinking about Doc Benton, how his screams had echoed into the night sky, how horrifying Sam had found the thought of being buried alive. Because Dean was going to live again. Sam was certain. _I'm so sorry, Dean. I hate leaving you here. I hope this is what you wanted._ Standing shoulder to shoulder with Bobby,Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the tears.

Bobby stared heavily at the fresh dirt, as spent and weary as Sam, and broken too, and Sam gave him a watery smile. Neither hunter seemed to have the words; the grief was still too fresh, too near to them both. Sam reached out tentatively with the power, trying to bolster his friend's wounded spirit. As he did, he felt the slight impression of a hand on his shoulder. He knew without looking whose hand it was. _Dean._

 _I'm right here, Sammy._

Sam smiled inwardly. _You're getting good at this._ He thought, then _, Bobby's real torn up, man._ Bittersweet sorrow, love and peace flooded Sam's awareness. Dean cared for the older man, loved him like a father.

 _I know, Sammy. I know._

A few seconds passed, and Sam glanced at Bobby, surprised to see that a calm look that had settled over his face. “You ok, Bobby?” he whispered, afraid to break the reverent silence.

Bobby turned to Sam then, smiling weakly through watery eyes. “Yeah. I can't explain it.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in question. “What do you mean?”

Bobby sighed. “It's like I can feel him ... or somethin.” He trailed off, not wanting to say anything to cause Sam pain. “I dunno. I just ... we'll get him back, Sam. We will.” He clasped Sam's forearm firmly, relaying his resolve. “Come on. We need to lay down before we fall down. Won't do your brother any good if we go followin him.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, ok.” Bobby grabbed his shovel and headed for the waiting car, leaving Sam for one final moment alone.

 _It was better than I thought it'd be._

Sam frowned. _What was?_

 _My funeral. Better than the cops probably did it, anyway._

Sam felt the corner of his mouth twitch inadvertently into a grin. He raised his shoulder, pressing into the phantom grip that rested there. Usually spirits caused cold and pain, but with Dean there was only warmth.

 _Sammy?_

 _Yeah?_

 _Thanks._

Sam was startled at that. _What for?_

 _For thinkin I'm hero. For ... respecting me._

Pure gratefulness assaulted Sam's senses, and he was astonished to feel Dean's humility and embarrassment. Responding openly would only embarrass Dean worse. He grinned. _You're welcome. I mean it, you know. All of it._ he thought. He sensed Dean's avoiding shift immediately _. Hey Dean?_

 _Yeah?_

 _Does being dead have other side effects? Like extreme emo tendencies?_ The delighted, rippling laughter came back instantly, and to Sam's surprise, the faint feel of the hand on his shoulder became much more solid as Dean actually _shoved_ him a few steps in reply.

 _Shut up._

Sam sighed wearily and headed for the car. He didn't feel so bad leaving now. He wasn't leaving Dean, not really. _Keep that up and you'll be full corporeal soon._

 _I always was a quick learner._

 _Yeah._ Sam felt Dean's presence fade as he stepped into the car, but this time he wasn't afraid. Dean just held back when other people were around, that was all. Nothing Sam could think of was more natural than that.

~*~

At long last, there was nothing left to do, and after waving Bobby off to bed, Sam sank into the covers gratefully. They had a long road ahead of them, and it would be hard and dangerous. Sam knew he would have to face truths about himself that he didn't want to face. He didn't know if he was ready yet to take out Lilith, but he had to try. This time he would know better. This time he would be ready. But he wasn't afraid of falling to the darkness anymore.

 _Rest. Don't worry. I'll watch out for you._

“I know, Dean. Thanks.”He sighed. Heavy lids pulled his eyes shut, and feelings of _safe_ and _comfort_ and _protection_ wrapped all around him, lulling his senses.

Sam wasn't worried. He had his anchor back.


End file.
